Kitchen Caper

A few years ago we tweaked our kitchen. We weren’t ready to gut it but it needed a little freshening up. By “we” I mean the nice men we hired since my husband and I aren’t exactly DIY people. We’re more like, DEDIYP – Don’t Ever Do It Yourself People.

So we decided to keep it simple. Just painting the walls and the cabinets. No big deal. But then we decided we needed a new faucet for the sink. And how can you have a new faucet and not a new sink? And how can we do all that and not get new countertops? That’s just crazy. Then our contractor guy said,” hey, have you ever thought about wainscoting the island?” Uh. No. We hadn’t thought of that. We just wanted a paint job. When it was finished we were blown away. It looked so different to us. A NEW kitchen, we thought.

Kinda. Sorta.

I took before and after shots. Every good makeover needs a photo reveal. You know how some people have a music soundtrack for life in their head? I have a sitcom/make-over show in my head. Totally normal. No therapy needed here. But I really didn’t know what to do with the photos, so I stashed them away.  Last night I cleaned out my phone pics and found them.  Moral of the story – don’t ever delete any photos because 2 years from now you may start a blog and need proof of story.

Back to the chicken….I mean kitchen.

We went from the warm wood to the white cabinets (even though Dave, our DEDIYP guy, told me never to paint cabinets a stark white. I ignored him. I’ve been dreaming of white kitchen cabinets since Martha painted hers at Turkey Hill. You know who I’m talking about, don’t pretend you don’t).

So here is the reveal, a tale of two kitchens. Kitchen confidential. The kitchen has two faces. A kitchen story. Sorry.

Before….

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After

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We still have to do the  back splash. Maybe I’ll go crazy and do a turquoise ocean mural or something. Or maybe it’ll just be white.

Only Boring People Get Bored

Here’s a random list of all the things I’ve been doing/seeing/eating/buying/worrying about/disliking/loving/wanting in the last few weeks:

  • Every year, in prep for the Oscars, my husband and I try to see all the nominated movies (we’re crazy like that).  This year we’re almost there – minus his absolute resolve to NOT see Le Mis.  I saw it. I started crying during the first scene and haven’t stopped since. 
  • I’ve wanted a nutmeg grinder for a long time. Many a day I strolled into Williams Sonoma, coveted and then walked out. It’s not expensive. But then you start thinking about how much nutmeg you actually use in real life and how absurd it is to have a special little grinder for it – and then the $30 may as well be $3,000.  Long grinder story short – my secret santa gave me the damn grinder for Christmas. And I haven’t used it once. And I probably won’t touch it until next November. But I LOVE it and it makes me insanely happy. Insane being the key word. Picture below.
  • My sister-in-law hurt her leg and spent some quality time with us in the begining of January.  She was trapped on our couch with a giant bag of ice  and looking for a new show to watch – we asked if she had ever seen Breaking Bad – she hadn’t. You know what’s better than finding a good show to watch on Netflix? Watching a good show again with someone who hasn’t ever watched it. It’s like tv philanthropy.
  • Downton Abbey started again – oh happy day! Recent favorite Maggie Smith line, “Don’t mistake vulgarity for wit.” I vote for a Lady Grantham spin-off, who’s in?
  • I went formal dress shopping with my teenage daughter. This should be the name of a new horror movie. Just kiddin’…anyhoo.
  • Tried a new hummus recently. Bobbi’s Hummus. It’s basically 3 parts garlic to 1 part chickpea. Lots of lemon and freshly ground pepper. I love you Bobbi, and your heavy garlic hand.
  • I got a pedicure last week for the first time since hurting my foot – which is still a bit sore.  I went to my favorite nail place. Esther runs it. She’s a nice Korean woman who I’ve gotten to know well enough for her to tell me that her real name isn’t Esther and the other two girls aren’t Anna and Tina. Last summer her son came to work in the shop. We call him Tom but you get the point. Tom does all the pedicures. Just thought you should know.
  • I tried giving up bread for 2.5 seconds on Thursday, January 3rd. Epic fail.
  • Legos are the devil.
  • The end.

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Self cleaning life

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At about 6am this morning I came to grips with the fact that the holidays are over and it’s back to work, school, and reality. After a good shower cry (only half kidding) I decided to go downstairs and tackle some emails, return some calls and get 2013 under way. By 7:15 I was crying again (only half kidding).

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my fill of all the merriment. I love this stretch of hibernation. I love the no gift buying. The no cookie baking. Not getting all my calories from a glass of Bailey’s. It’s time.

So here we go… Resolutions! Putting away the decorations! Washing all the guest linens! Conference calls! Presentations! Homework! Gulp. Sigh. Sorry for shouting. That didn’t work. Not excited in the least.

My lack of motivation can be summarized by my trusty oven. It cleans itself – without me doing one little thing – and I still only get to it once a year.

The eating nook

This is the spot. I usually have at least two of my 4 meals here (2 breakfasts, lunch, and dinner – what?).

This is me eating in my spot.

The gods created this spot for me. It’s perfect. I have the sink to my right for easy disposal, the stove to the left for refill access – and a view of any shenanigans happening at the table or in the family room. The only thing that would make this better is a kitchen TV. But that’s just nuts. Or is it?

That’s my boy and his pal after a sleepover enjoying their pancakes. These are my boys leftovers. If you have kids you aren’t disgusted. You know that sometimes whole meals consist of what’s left on the kid’s plate. Another bonus to eating leftovers while standing up? Those calories somehow don’t count. Truth.

Do you have an eating nook? Or do you always eat nicely at the table with a folded napkin with your pinky up?

 

Dear New Event Planner,

Hi.  It’s me.  The old event planner.  I thought we could have a chat. I know you’re excited, you’re finally out of school and ready to be the next Colin Cowie or Mindy Weiss.  I totally relate.  Event planning is the job of my dreams – I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.  Corporate, private, personal, big, small – love’em all.  So here’s my two cents on some starter advice (ignore at will):

  • Instead of taking a seminar or getting a “planning” certificate – get a job.  Anything that has anything to do with events.  That’s right, become a cater waiter.  It’ll show you what it takes to organize a group of servers.  It’ll teach you about the kitchen and all the back of house staff needed to make an event tick.  You know that gig being an admin in a catering company? Take it.  Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to see an event contract, called a BEO (Banquet Event Order), or handle an angry customer.  Hotel reception desk? Sounds like a plan.  Event planning is a service industry.  Even an entry-level sales job is better than a damn certificate – trust me.
  • What’s “Back of House” (BOH).  It’s everything.  Know it. Love it.  It’s the circulation, the heartbeat, the lifeline, to an event.  Good BOH, good event.
  • Buy a suit (you know I prefer black but whatever floats your boat will do).  Whether you are working a wedding, a cocktail party on the beach, or a black tie gala – do not dress for the event.  You, my friend, are not invited, you are working it.  It’s important to look like it. What if you end up being overdressed at a casual party, you ask? Don’t worry about it.  There is no such thing as overdressed – in fact – aim for it.
  • You do not have to be a control freak to be a good planner – but it really really helps.
  • You know that old saying – PrePlanning Prevents Piss Poor Performance?  I hate that saying. Mainly because I don’t believe you need bodily functions to drive a point home, but I digress.  But you know what makes me really pissy?  It’s true!  The job is called “planner”, not “piece-it-together-onsiter”  Know the venue, know the players.  Don’t just hire a photographer/musician based on a cool website. Meet them.  In 5 minutes you’ll know if that person can be someone you can work with or, more importantly, recommend.
  • Don’t say no to a potential job – even for free.  Your cousin wants help planning a sweet 16? Done.  Your neighbor needs someone to help her find a reception hall? That would be you.  The only way to get good at planning is to plan, a lot.  Google can only do so much people.
  • Learn to be assertive and have uncomfortable conversations when needed.  You are the advocate for the event.  If you don’t do it (tell the kitchen to speed it up, tell the photographer to calm down, tell valet to wear a blazer, etc) no one will.  You know what helps with this? A job.

I know it doesn’t seem like it – but this is a love letter. I really do heart you.

xoxome

The bird woman of bucks county

Last year I started noticing a small, chirping little trend in the things I was buying.

All of a sudden – I liked birds.  All kinds of birds.

At first it was roosters on a sugar canister – very cute.  Then I got a rooster light switch plate, hmmm….nice.

Then came a  rooster decorative plaque on the wall – uh oh.

Then I noticed my ikea mirrors that I decoupaged with toile paper napkins – with roosters.

I pretended it was a French/country inspired thing.  I’m not a cooky old bird woman.  Roosters are a cool, urban-meets-country-meets Provence thing.  It’s not like I’m into pigeons or something.

But roosters were my gateway bird.

I moved on to all kinds of birds.  I found these ceramic birds at a craft fair or Pier One, I forget.

For Christmas, a good friend who’d noticed my sudden bird love gave us this beautiful peacock plate.

A few weeks ago, I thought my downstairs bathroom needed some jazzing up.

With birds.

What’s the big deal? At least I don’t have any bird sweaters or jewelry or something…urr..wait. Never mind.

Here’s my decent into madness.  Send help.

        

I won’t even mention that “The Big Year” is my new favorite movie.  Take a wild geese, I mean, guess what it’s about.

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